


We live in the gaps between

by cirque



Category: Farscape
Genre: Comfort, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Making Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aeryn Sun is like a warzone, full of unexploded mines. Crichton will never make it through without setting some off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We live in the gaps between

**Author's Note:**

> Title quote by Margaret Atwood, the one and only.

It is Chiana who brings it to his attention. John is surprised, though he shouldn't be by now, by her perception. She is smarter than she'll ever let him know, and he understands her need for secrets.

"She doesn't really hate your guts, y'know."

He's sitting inside his module, running a soft cloth over the dials because it turns out dust settles even in space. Moya is quiet; John thought everyone was asleep.

"That's nice Chi," he says, his teeth gritted even though it isn't her he's angry at. "Real charming."

"You oughtta be charmed." Chiana says this with her head on an angle, her voice low as though she is imparting great wisdom. "I'm kinda jealous." She does not blush, she cannot, but he imagines it all the same. 

He stuffs the cloth into his pocket, climbs out of the module and leans forward to meet her eye to eye. 

"You're all green-eyed because Aeryn's yelling herself hoarse whenever I'm in earshot? Hey, tag you're it." He is tired of Aeryn Sun, he is tired of space, and tired of being chased by maniacs.

She flinches a little and gives him her most wicked smile. "No, you frelling child. We're all jealous. Even D'Argo, he's just hiding it. Real well."

He takes her hand. He wishes it were as easy to love Aeryn as it is to love Chiana. He never has to worry about taking the wrong direction with Chi, saying the wrong thing, incurring her wrath. Aeryn is like a warzone, full of unexploded mines. Crichton will never make it through without setting some off.

"Oh yeah? Maybe you can translate, 'cause I'm still pretty new in this neighborhood. What did I do this time?"

Chiana looks at him deeply, and with great pity, before rolling her eyes. "That's the point you dumb hooman, you haven't done anything." She erupts into laughter, a sound that is fast becoming his favorite. 

"And now you're laughing at me too? This day just gets better and better."

"No, I'm laughing at your love life. It's totally different."

"Oh, gee, thanks Pip."

She sobers herself and pinches his shoulder. "Maybe you oughtta focus on not getting on Aeryn's bad side for now. Maybe the rest will sort itself out?"

"And that isn't naive at all?"

She squares her shoulders. He's pissed her off.

"I'm trying to help, huh. Maybe if you weren't so depressing Aeryn might wanna frell around with you."

"Gee Pip, I'm lightyears from home, being hunted by a psycho hybrid. You're right, I should be having the time of my life."

"Oh frell Cricht-"

"And for the record, I don't want to frell around with Aeryn."

"Yeah. Right. I believe ya." She whips her head to the side, which he knows precedes a tantrum and so he takes a step back. "Good night Crichton." She spins a perfect 180, a move so graceful he has flashbacks of Olivia doing ballet, of Olivia skating rings around him at the roller park, of Olivia doing so many mundane things so full of grace, and it is so clear that by the time he remembers Moya, space, Scorpy, Aeryn, he realizes Chiana is long gone.

He misses Olivia. She'd be full of advice. 

He kicks his module. "This is your fault."

***

It is later still and Crichton is still awake, his head full of Chiana's words. He's in a storage closet, far from where the others sleep, far from where they'd wander accidentally, and this is how he knows Aeryn specifically set out to look for him.

"You're up early," she says when she opens the closet door, which is the closest thing to 'good morning' he's ever likely to get. 

"Up? I haven't slept yet."

"That is neither healthy nor logical."

He wonders if she knows, though her face gives nothing away, that tonight was just another sleepless night in which the thought of Aeryn Sun kept him restless. 

"We have a problem, you and I." She says this sadly, as if she's about to deliver bad news. "It seems we can't go more than a matter of arns without yelling, or kissing, or both."

"The yelling part's a problem," he agrees.

She steps over where he is leaning against the hull wall like a sulky teenager. She shuffles her booted feet and slides down so that she is sitting beside him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

"The whole thing is a problem commander."

"Right. Officer Sun: PK." He forgets, often, that she has a whole other life he knows nothing about. He knows the facts, sure, but not the feelings. 

She stiffens at the mention of Peacekeepers; her whole body is tense beside him.

"It doesn't have to be a problem," he says, his voice hushed. He is very aware that they're treading on dangerous waters; he doesn't want to drown.

"No?"

"No."

She sighs. "Our lives are terrible. We face death and torture at every turn. Repeatedly."

"Everyone has bad days."

"So what's your suggestion?"

He takes several deep breaths. He needs them. "I'm suggesting, maybe we stop trying. Stop trying to stay apart, and stop trying to make it work. Live day to day."

"We're in danger day to day."

"So, we live in between."

"The danger?"

"Yeah. And the arguments."

She smiles, barely, and he knows he's won. He takes her hand and though she is still tense, she doesn't resist. He thumbs her palm, feels the callous and the ridges where her gun usually sits. Aeryn is not a gentle woman.

She moves slightly, and he thinks she's going to kiss him, and he prepares himself. Instead, out of nowhere, she rests her head on his shoulder. She does it roughly, knocking his jaw in the process, as though she might change her mind if she moves too slowly. He smiles, though she can't see, and holds her hand firmer. 

Aeryn is not a gentle woman. It's a matter of mediums, Crichton knows, and he will accept this small moment for what it is.


End file.
